Woods Wanderer

After a productive morning on the computer, I went to the nearby rail trail to stretch my legs and clear my head. The sky overhead was full of clouds so I wasn’t real excited about getting outdoors. But the midday temps were well above freezing. That meant the walk would be pleasant enough.

The sun, hanging low in the southern sky, peeked through the clouds just as I was starting out. That was the last of it, though. A stiff breeze blew in more clouds from the west a few minutes later, obscuring the sun and assuring that it’ll rain this evening.

Here in northern Vermont, the sun rose at 7:24 this morning. It’ll set at 4:12 this afternoon. Yeah, it’s that time of year – a tough time for those of us who are energized by light.

Chickadees flitted through the trees, adding a little cheer to an otherwise dreary day. I flushed a great blue heron from a small brook. My dog Matika was happy just to trot along and sniff around. Watching her, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps I think too much.

Nature has its moods. It is best to roll with them, I kept telling myself. So I focused on the warm air, and the clear path underfoot as I walked – a rarity in mid-December. Be grateful for that. The deep cold and heavy snow will come soon enough.

The days will start getting longer in a couple weeks. Until then, I’ll illuminate the tree in my living room as grey light gives way to twilight. In fact, it’s time to do that now. In the absence of the real thing, artificial light will have to do.

Tags: light, moods, walking, winter solstice

I stepped outdoors a few minutes ago to clear my head after working all morning. I marveled at the unseasonable weather. Temps are well above freezing today, and there’s no snow in my back yard. Here in northern New England, this kind of warmth in December is rare indeed.

Weather fluctuates, of course, so what changes from one year to the next is no big deal. But when long term patterns develop, it’s time to pay attention.

Scientists tell us that 40% of the ice covering the Arctic Sea has melted away since the 1970s. Northern nations are scrambling to lay claim to oil deposits there, which are fast becoming accessible. What’s that tell you?

Skeptics insist that we don’t know enough about climate science to say for certain that the planet is warming up due to human activity. That may be true. But certainty in science takes an awful long time to establish.

Prophets of doom say we’d better do something before it’s too late. Two degrees Celsius is the magic number. Once the overall temperature of the planet rises that much, all hell will break loose. We are now halfway there.

Some people see the ongoing climate change as the end of nature as we know it. The key phrase here is “as we know it.” Nature will persist long after humankind is gone, even if we take millions of other species with us into extinction. The age and scale of the cosmos assures us of that.

So the real question is this: What happens to us in the interim, as the climate changes? More importantly, should I as an individual give a damn about anyone else living or not yet born?

Representatives from most of the nations in the world are currently meeting in Paris to draft a universal and binding agreement on climate change. Is that even possible?

What can we do? More to the point: What are we willing to do? Is it fair for rich nations to dictate policy to populous industrializing nations just now starting to obtain the kind of material well being that Westerners have enjoyed for well over a century?

These matters are too much for a woods wanderer like myself to wrap my brain around. I know my own nature, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I know human nature. And all rhetoric aside, that’s what our talk of addressing climate change is really about. What we can do will be determined by what we are.

Tags: climate change, global warming, human nature, nature

With Thanksgiving almost here, I figure now’s a good time to reflect upon the past and give thanks for all the good fortune that has come my way. Having Judy in my life is at the top of the list, certainly, closely followed by family and friends. Having a new business is also on the list, along with good health, a home, and access to the woods. Then there’s my dog Matika of course. But that’s not all. There’s also my literary work.

I’ve been so busy with online bookselling this year that I’ve completely ignored an important milestone: My small press, Wood Thrush Books, is now 30 years old.  I started it in 1985 with the self-publication of a chapbook of poetry, Shadows Dancing. I’ve published over 40 chapbooks and paperbacks since then – mostly self-publications but also anthologies, works by other writers like Walt Franklin, Rob Faivre and Michael Jewell, and the Writers of the 19th Century series to boot. So today I’m giving thanks for the ability to have done that, and for all the readers who have made that possible.

What is a small press without people like you supporting it? Some of you have done so for many years, for decades. What good are all my written words without readers? Some of you have almost as many of my books on your shelves as I do. And for that I am grateful. Your checks have kept WTB going. Your words of encouragement have kept me writing and publishing even though I’ve been close to quitting many times. So I count you, dear readers, among my blessings. Thank you. Thank you very much!

Tags: publishing, thanksgiving, writing

Five months ago, I stopped working a regular job and put all my time and energy into building an online bookselling business. My wife Judy and I agreed that I would go gangbusters for four months then we’d reassess the situation. Well, when October rolled around the business looked good so I’ve continued doing it. It’s an unconventional way to make a living, no doubt, but I’m having a great time.

During the past five months I have driven thousands of miles, hunting down all sorts of books at library sales, church sales, and thrift shops. The bookshelves that I built in my office are packed from floor to ceiling. I buy books, list them at Amazon, and ship five/six days a week. It’s a hustle that suits my temperament well.

I didn’t get out and hike as much as I wanted this summer and fall, but I figure there will be plenty of time for that in the years ahead. As for writing and publishing, I’ve done a little of that lately and hope to do more this coming winter. But building the business remains my top priority, even as the library sales taper off.

Now comes phase two. With Judy’s assistance, I am revamping the Wood Thrush Books website to make it more user friendly. Soon I’ll be offering secondhand books on a variety of nature-related subjects for sale there, in addition to the ones I publish. Some of you might remember my dalliance with online bookselling a decade ago. Well, this time I’m doing it right.

Once the new WTB website is fully operational, I’ll send out word to all of you. That will probably happen in January. In the meantime I’ll keep listing books at Amazon and writing blurbs for the nature books to come. It’s keeping me busy, that’s for sure.

Tags: bookselling, bookselling online, building a business, nature books, wood thrush books

After reading John Burroughs’ Time and Change yesterday morning, I felt an overwhelming urge to get outdoors and stretch my legs. A blue sky underscored the urge. My dog Matika is always ready to go, of course. So we climbed into the car and drove to the pocket of woods on nearby French Hill.

Since it was the first day of deer season, Matika and I wore blaze orange. Usually I stay out of the woods when hunters are in them with high-powered rifles, but yesterday I simply couldn’t resist the urge to tramp through the woods without the constriction of a trail underfoot. I have days when only a good bushwhack will do.

It’s stick season now. All the leaves are down. They rustled loudly as I plowed through them, scaring off the local deer. Gunfire in the distance. Trees threw long shadows across the forest floor at midday, thanks to a drooping, late autumn sun. I crossed an old, stone wall, and that gave me my bearings while skirting a large beaver pond just out of view. Been here before. Without the distraction of a trail, it’s a lot easier to read the terrain.

There’s something about tramping through a trackless forest that calms me as nothing else can. It’s the absolute freedom of movement, I suppose, combined with a total lack of purpose. I tramp therefore I am. There’s nothing more to it than that.

Yet I couldn’t resist following the old logging trail that swept southward back towards the car, even though it muddied both my boots and Matika’s paws. The deer tracks we found there got our attention. And for a short while I was a hunter without a gun. It’s like that sometimes. I go into the woods with one purpose and end up doing something else. That’s what bushwhacking is all about.

Tags: bushwhacking, freedom, hunting season, November, stick season

It’s late in the season now and most of the leaves are on the ground. Brilliant color remains in a few scattered trees but we know it won’t last. November is right around the corner, and here in the North Country that means snow.

I traipse around Indian Brook Reservoir lost in thought. My dog Matika, always in the moment, smiles broadly between her scent investigations. But I am still in work mode from earlier today, wondering what lies in the days ahead, and recollecting all the fun I’ve had since the last time I walked here. Mostly I reflect upon the recent past – upon the pleasant and joyful months of summer when everything was green and the temps are warm. Now the surrounding landscape is golden, as if it has suddenly aged, and there’s a distinct chill in the air.

I too have aged. Pushing 60, I’m thankful for all the blessings that have been bestowed upon me – for all my good fortune through the years. Yet I am weary in a way that a good night’s sleep can’t fix. Is this what it feels like to be growing old? Even though I enjoy life more now than ever, I’ve lost most of my youthful enthusiasm for both work and play.

Yet the world is just as beautiful as it has ever been, and there’s something in the crisp air that makes me glad I’m alive. It’s a paradox to be sure – a riddle I know I can’t solve. So I cut my pace and try to be as much in the moment as my dog. That’s challenging enough.

Tags: autumn, growing older, reflection, walking

Having the freedom to take time to play is one of the big advantages of being self-employed. But I work harder for myself than I ever would for anyone else. I don’t stop and play enough. That said, Monday was too nice a day to stay indoors, staring at a computer screen. So I grabbed my pack and headed for the hills.

Once again, I drove to the Jay Peak trailhead. Not my favorite mountain, because of its ski trails, but the drive to it is short. Besides, it’s a relatively easy climb. I’m out of shape, thanks to excessive computer time recently, so I thought it best to make the day’s hike a short one.

My dog Matika leapt out of the car all smiles. She’s been cooped up a lot lately, thanks to my relentless work schedule. She ran up the trail, setting a rigorous pace for me. Soon I was shouting for her to wait so that I could catch my breath. With low humidity and temps in the sixties, I was sweating very little. All the same, the elevation change was doing a number on me.

We broke above the treeline towards the top. The trail became rocky. I admired the view: blue sky overhead and the landscape below ablaze with autumnal color. That’s when I promised myself that I would get out more.

A quick lunch on top then Matika and I descended. At my age, going downhill is the hard part. All my joints below the waist were aching by the time I got back to the car. Still it was good getting out. Back to work yesterday and today, I’ve been much more productive as a consequence of the outing. Yeah, there’s really no excuse for working all the time – no excuse at all.

Tags: balance, hiking, Jay Peak, mountain climbing, play, work

Seems like the autumnal color is a week or two late, and not nearly as vibrant as it has been in the past. Chalk that up to a run of hot days in September, I suppose. But that doesn’t change the fact that the leaves turning is as inevitable as the days getting shorter. It is, after all, that time of year.

Taking a break from work at midday to walk my dog Matika and stretch my legs, I meander along the Rail Trail for a while. The contrast between remnant summer-like green leaves and the gold, burnt orange, and rusty ones gets my attention, emptying my mind of business matters – at least temporarily. Time marches along, as the seasons attest. We are wise not to ignore it.

A caterpillar labors in front of me. Squirrels race across the trail, gathering their winter foodstuffs. The other day I saw a telltale V of geese leaving Canada. No hard frost yet, but a thin coating of it covered the top of my car a couple days ago. Yeah, we’re getting there.

On the Rail Trail, a young woman breezing past on a bicycle notices me taking a picture of the colorful foliage overhead. “Finally!” she says gleefully, “Getting rid of the green!” I don’t share her enthusiasm. The warm season is never long enough for me.

In a month or two, I’ll be missing the color of vegetative growth. Then again, seasonal change is nice. I wouldn’t want to live in Florida. I just wish it didn’t all happen so quickly. It’s hard keeping up.

Tags: fall foliage, seasonal change, seasons, time

I have just released Walt Franklin’s new book, Beautiful Like a Mayfly, under the Wood Thrush Books imprint. As most of you probably know by now, I’m a big fan of his, having published his work repeatedly in years past. In 2014, I reprinted his collection of fly-fishing essays, River’s Edge, thus assuring that it would stay in print. This newer work complements that older one.

Beautiful Like a Mayfly is both a travel narrative and a collection of nature essays. Even though it spans four decades, Franklin is reluctant to call it a memoir. Rightly so. It’s more a celebration of life lived simply: roaming through Greece and Germany, fly-fishing out west and here in the Northeast, and engaging the world as both a naturalist and a conservationist while always keeping a watchful eye for songbirds. And Franklin gives it all to us with generous helpings of humor, erudition and insight, per usual.

I couldn’t be happier about publishing this. While I’ve been busy cultivating an online bookselling business this past summer, I’ve pushed this project ahead, one step at a time. Now here it is, the finished product – a fine addition to the Wood Thrush Books list, and a welcome break from a long parade of self-publications.

You can get a copy from Amazon.com or by going to the WTB website, WoodThrushBooks.com. If you are new to Franklin’s work and want to sample it first, check out his blog, RivertopRambles. He posts there regularly.

Tags: birdwatching, conservation, far west, fly fishing, Germany, Greece, memoir, nature essays, travel essays, travelogue, upstate New York

In the middle of the workday, I load my dog Matika into the car and drive to the town forest just a few miles outside of Saint Albans. Cooped up for several days running, Matika needs to get outside and stretch her legs. Quite frankly, so do I.

The trail is still damp from yesterday’s daylong rain, but the sun shines brightly through the forest canopy. I break a sweat in a manner of minutes. Summer lingers like an unwelcome guest at the end of a party, despite the fact that the trees are starting to turn.

Not far from the parking lot, I come upon a small pond with a few birdhouses around it to encourage avian habitation. I stop for a moment to take in the juxtaposition of summer heat and the rusted leaves of a couple red maples. It’s a win/win situation as far as I see things. I like autumn just as much as fall.

Continuing along the trail, I notice blue asters in bloom. That’s a between-season wildflower to be sure, just as comfortable in summer heat as autumn coolness. Seeing it reminds me of my long September hike through the Adirondacks a few years back. Since then I haven’t been able look at blue asters without smiling. They are denizens of the deep woods in late summer and early fall, even though they grow pretty much everywhere.

The smell of the forest in September – that’s what I like most about this time of year. It’s a dry, earthy fragrance with just a hint of floral sweetness. It’s as if the forest is satisfied with itself. Once again the growing season has been a success. Now there is only this pleasant coasting towards colder, darker days.

And yet I am not complacent. Wildness stirs within me with each step I take. Even though this is only a lunch hour hike, I hunger for a much longer excursion into the woods. Soon, very soon, I hope – before the snow flies.

Tags: blue asters, day hiking, seasonal change